Cry Just a Little
by Missy Holland
Summary: Right now, he's probably carrying her to his pretty little tuned up four wheel drive. I hate her, I love her, I'm drunk
1. I cry

**Song is Faith Hill's 'Cry'. Not mine, neither are the characters, except for Catherine's mystery lover….. **

**Posted without a beta. If there are many mistakes I will re-post it. **

**Slash, self- hurting and darkness right beneath that cute dotted line. Don't like don't read. **

"_What's better, the truth that draws a tear or a lie that draws a smile?"_

"_I choose truth. Never regretted it once"_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Right now, he's probably buying her a cocktail. I push the front door open, wanting to loosen up and not think right now. Right now she's probably saying 'I'm drunk' and he thinks he's getting lucky tonight. And he doesn't know. I carve her name upon the wall of lovers I can't have. Right now he's probably carrying her to his pretty little tuned up four-wheel drive telling her to sleep. I stumble in the dark to my dresser and get the bottle of whiskey out. One smooth motion lets the liquid burn its way into my throat, straight to my heart. Right now she's probably in his car, sleeping and he'll be watching her. I somehow make my way to the bedroom and toss the almost empty bottle away. She's a slut, a whore! She shouldn't be with him. She can get better!

**If I had just one tear running down your cheek  
Maybe I could cope, maybe I'd get some sleep  
If I had just one moment at your expense   
Maybe all my misery would be well spent**

No! I can't think of her like that, she's an angel undercover. She's the best thing in the world! She's not a slut, nor a whore.

I punch my hand into my head board before collapsing on the bed. How could I've thought that? What has happened to me? Has she bewitched me? Am I under her spell? Why can't I get her out of my head? Why do I feel the fury when she's with someone else? I pull my knees up to my chest as I lay down.

The comforter is cold and soft against my flushed face and balled fists. I shut my eyes as tight as I can, tightening all my muscles so I'm a little ball. Ready to explode. Why does this have to happen to me? I've never liked her, hell I've never liked women before! Why does she have to come and mess me up even more? She makes me feel sick when I just have to realise that she's out with someone.

That she's having breakfast with him, laughing with him, when they have their bodies flush together and do their little dance! I get sick of the though of them together, having sex and cuddling afterwards. Why couldn't she come to me? Why did she have to go to him? When I was here for her, ready to catch her if she'd fall! Where have all the men gone I used to love? Can't they see that I'm in pain here? Isn't there someone who can get my thoughts of off her? Late at night when I toss and turn, laying wide awake and beat myself up over lost chances, I just want to get it all over with, I don't want to suffer anymore.

**Could you cry a little  
Lie just a little  
Pretend that you're feeling a little more pain  
I gave now I 'm wanting  
Something in return  
So cry just a little for me  
**

From the moment I met her for the first, I was blown away, she's strong and beautiful with a set of brains I could never beat. But when she made clear we had nothing in common I just gave up. But when she met that guy, I was so mad I went straight home and smashed several glasses and plates against the wall before sinking down and crying my eyes out, without knowing why I did that, or why she meant so much to me. I never felt something for a woman, let alone for her! I hated her for making me feel like that. I hated her for making me want her.

I hated her for making me love her

But time passed and he went away as well. I got my hopes back, and she became more cheerful. But we fought and fought and one day it happened all over again, I came to see her and apologize, but when she opened the door I heard a male voice I knew so well, asking who was there. I just stood there, staring at her and my eyes watering. She couldn't see what was behind my tears and I went home again, heartbroken and without any hope. Nothing I could do and from then on I got depressed. She was everywhere. It seemed as if we were always together, like she wanted me to see how happy she was, and how bad I felt. She was around, playing nice, but I went home very night, crying in my car because I knew she'd be going to him. I couldn't tell her but I couldn't keep quiet either.

**If your love could be caged, honey I would hold the key  
And conceal it underneath the pot of lies you handed me  
And you'd hunt those lies  
They'd be all you'd ever find  
And that'd be all you'd have to know  
For me to be fine**

I cut myself for the first time that night. I was trying to maintain at least some sort of health and was cutting some vegetables when the knife slipped. The shallow cut in my finger made me forget about the pain in my heart. Instead it concentrated on the pain in my finger. I was mesmerized by how I could forget so easily. I stared at the knife, at my blood and that was the solution. That was the way I could get her out of my system. Slowly the knife grazed my under arm, not piercing the skin yet, waiting for my signal to forget. I felt powerful, on top of the world, when I slid the blade into my arm. All I felt was the sting in my arm, not the acid that had been burning in my heart. For a month I kept going, sometimes even seeking her out when she was with him, just so I had an excuse to cut and forget. I've been hurt before, so I knew how to cut without leaving scars. Only one scar is to be found on my arm. One circular motion from when I caught them kissing. I went home and cut a loop around my arm, too deep to leave no scar.

But someone saw it.

Only one person in my little world saw what I was doing to myself, and didn't try to stop me. They let me twist in my own vicious circle, and I was sliding down fast. I received a letter not to long ago, telling me that I should stop, that my scar had been seen, and that I'd be reported to Ecklie if I continued like this. I hate myself, I can't even keep my misery to myself. No, I had to go and let my guards down. Not that SHE noticed, she probable wouldn't if it was right in her face. I love her and I showed it to her. I couldn't get through so I deserve to be punished.

**I'll give it up baby  
I hear your goodbye  
Nothing's gonna save me   
I can see it your eyes  
Some kind of heartache  
Darling give it a try  
I don't want pity  
I just want what is mine  
**

That's why I'm drunk right now. I'm drunk and I'm crying again. I feel like I'm not worthy to be with her right now, but I want her so badly. I want to kiss her, hold her, chase her monsters away. I want to touch her, I want to see her crave for me. I want to love her. I want to make love to her. I want so much, but I can't have it. I need her. What has she done to me? How can I hate her with everything I am, still love her like she's all I'd need. Like she's my food and water, like she's every single person in the world, and yet the only one I can see? What has she done to me? Why can't I get over her? She's taken, but my heart still craves for her, now more than ever. I can't tell her, I'll lose everything. But I can't live without her any longer. I've had my chance and could it be too late?? I won't give in, I won't show mercy, she can't play with my heart anymore. I let her slip away. I shake as thoughts cross my mind, not knowing what to do anymore.

She has taken over my soul and my mind, and my heart is craving for her as well.

I jump of the bed, head spinning and turn my bedside radio on. I cry out and start do move along with the music of my favourite rock station. I jump around, dance, yell, scold, cry and turn around and around and around….starts appear in my eyes and my head starts to pound. I throw myself against the cool orange walls of my bedroom, my head just missing the solid hardwood floor as I bounce against it, only to end up on my back, looking at my ceiling. I feel something trickle down my arm and watch lazily as my shoulder seems to be scratched and bleeding. With one finger I catch a droop of blood and I look at it in the light of dawn. Without thinking I just let it fall on my dress.

I slowly get up whilst swaying of all the whiskey. I stumble around to find my car keys. I drag my feet as I find my way to the car. I get in with tears still flowing out of my eyes. I don't care whether this is a good idea, I just want to do something dangerous right now. I don't want to sit and cry all fucking night! The walls of the car seem to close me in, like they want to share my mood. I sob and moan and let my head sink down on the steering wheel. She's everywhere, she's even in my car, sitting next to me and comforting me. But she seems different, her hair is longer than I thought it was. And she seems younger too.. What is happening? Did I get hallucinating too? She's pretty, but she's not Catherine. I don't care I just want to forget and leave Vegas and forget everything, I don't want to remember. I lay my head back down and close my eyes….

**And could you cry a little  
Die just a little  
and baby I would feel just a little less pain  
I gave now I'm wanting  
Something in return  
So cry just a little for me  
**

_I am on my way to check on Sara as I see her front door open. First I am exited, thinking she might have had fun tonight, gone for a drink, but when I see her swaying back and forth with a not so steady pace, I realize she's drunk. Very drunk._

_I slowly park my car and walk towards Sara who's now trying to get into her car. She's only wearing a summer dress, a white one with faded flowers and a beet red drop of blood on the fabric. I can hear something and when I get closer I realize that she's crying and the words I hear are moans that form someone's name. She has managed to get into the car, but there she doesn't get far. She lets her head rest on the wheel, sobbing uncontrollably. Even though it's also the alcohol, I can see that there's something wrong. Cautiously I circle around the car so I can get in and sit next to her. She's crying, and she's so desperate my heart turns inside of me. I softly close in and put an arm around her, whispering soft words of comfort and I try not to get her hurt. She is confused and looks up to me, and when I look into her eyes I can see who she's crying for. Why did she let it get so far? Why couldn't she control her emotions? I feel so sorry for her, for not being there. I could've helped her, but she didn't let me in. I saw the single scar she left, but I'd seen her way before that. I offered help, help she didn't take. I tried to tell her she had gone too far, but she wouldn't listen back then. But now she's ready to talk and listen. _

_I won't back away from her now, she needs someone to get her back into reality again. She rests her head again and closes her eyes……………._

_I'll help her to get over this, you bet I will. _

**To Be Continued?**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………


	2. I remember

**A/N: this is the second chapter. I don't know if this is any good, usually my first and last chapters are the best ones. I'm on holiday now so I had some time to write, but the next update will be a bit further in the future since I still have school to concentrate on. **

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be unless I pay the creators of CSI lots and lots of money. **

Sofia's POV

I sigh. It's been harder than I thought it would be; getting Sara out of the car and back to bed. I had an even harder time getting her out of the dress. Drunk as she was she clung to it like she'd die without it. I hated myself for seeing her so vulnerable when I practically forced it off.

Even though she had stopped crying soon after I got in and calmed her down a bit, she felt more lost without the dress than being caught in her desperateness.

But she's so drunk I'm scared she'll have alcohol-poisoning or something when she wakes up in the morning. So far she hasn't thrown up yet, but I'm sure that it's not long before she'll get sick.

I've been by her side most of the time, laying next to her and slowly stroking her back as she shivered under the blankets. She was so..so..I don't know, but behind her eyes was a storm going on that night. Like she was trying to keep all the rotten things of the world hidden inside of her.

I'm scared.

I know who caused her this pain, but I don't know how, and when. I know Sara, she might as well been hiding this for the past years. What has happened that made her blow? She's asleep right now, nothing I can do until she wakes up.

I take a look around. I've been at her place before, but never had a reason to go into her bedroom. It's nicely decorated, but what shocks me is to see the empty whisky bottle and the scars on her arm. I've seen glimpses of them before, but to see them up close is something new. I let my head rest on her shoulder for a second before I get up with a grunt. I'm tired, so I can only imagine how she must feel right now.

I shed my clothes and go to bed in my top and underwear.

But I can't sleep.

I've offered her help before, tried to talk to her. Seems like ages ago we really talked. I look at her, her face with those gorgeous lips and her marvelous eyes. Her lithe body and her endless legs. She could have every single man at the lab, and most of the women too, but the one that SHE wants doesn't see her.

I lay down with my head on her shoulders and the last thought that surfaces is how good she smells and how soft her skin is.

Sara's POV

My head…..Why is there a marching band playing at this hour?...Wait, where am I…Aah, my head is killing me. Jesus, I'll never drink again, I can't remember a thing of last night.

Whoa, hold it right there….Why am I being cuddled?

Someone is holding me, I can feel an arm around my waist, a head on my shoulder, nice soft hair on my arm. I'm too scared to open up my eyes. What if I've done something I'll regret. Or something the one who's with me will regret? I can't remember, but I'm sure that I was drunk. Very drunk.

I run a hand over my face and feel that my eyes are swollen and sensitive. Shit, have I been crying? I go back to what I last remember: coming home, feeling like hell. I remember thinking Catherine was a slut, and regretting the thought the instant it surfaced. That's all I can remember. I try not to look at the person next to me as I slowly open my eyes and try to recognize the ceiling. It's my own………..

But who on earth is there lying next to me?

My eyes travel over all I can find of the mystery women. Her hair is a golden blonde that feels wonderful against my arm. Her face is buried in my shoulder so I can get a nice look at her back. The covers are just covering her, her torso, her long legs, her arms around me. She feels familiar in a way, it's a shame I can't see her face. I'd like to know who I'm with. She's not Catherine, I know that very well, but she's someone who's caught my interest by just one look and touch.

What made her go home with a messed up brunette who's not that pretty and not that special? Why did she come? She's wearing an expensive silk tank-top and nice Victoria's panties so she's not cheap. But why would she come with me to my small apartment?

Appearantly I've gone out yesterday, because I can see my dress on the floor. Where did I go?

But my semi- happy mood disappears as soon as I see my scarred arm and the bottle of whiskey.

Memories come crashing back and I start to shake. I can remember now: the crying, the yelling and the whole disgusting rest of it.

I remember the drinking.

I remember the pain.

I remember Sofia.

Holy shit! I've slept with Sofia….. This can't be true, I just can't have slept with Detective Curtis!?! Did we do something last night? I am a bit sore, especially my shoulders, but that could've been from my interlude with both the wall and the floor. I slowly look down my body, relieved when I don't find any marks that indicate we've had sex.

I take another glance at Sofia before the whisky after-effects take over and my stomach starts to do somersaults. Not caring about waking her, I jump out of bed and hurry to the bathroom.

Through out this whole night I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed as I am right now; vomiting, cold, and Sofia who's rocking me back and forth after the cramps have ceased. She's not even grossed out by me, softly murmuring that everything's gonna be ok.

And desperately I try to believe her, crying in her arms.


	3. I fight

**A/N: The third chapter. If you consider this more humor than the previous, I'll be delighted, I love making jokes, but I'm not good with writing them down. Let me know if I was funny…**

**DISCLAIMER: not mine, I'll let you know when I do. **

**Beta-ed? No, I don't want to add to my current beta's stress (seriously, I don't want to stress that person, y'know, school and stuff)**

**If you find yourself a good grammar reader/writer or a spelling checker and you want to help me out: be my guest. Just send me a PM ;)**

**Part three: I fight.**

After my vomiting session of this morning Sofia hasn't said a word to me yet. All she did was look at me with those big sad eyes of her. I think she knows why I did what I've done, but I'm not willing to face the consequences just yet.

Who would? I think most people would call this embarrassing, if not dramatic and crazy.

As much as I care about Sofia, as a friend, a co-worker, I don't want her involved in this. Not in my own mess. I'm a grown up woman and I don't need any help getting me out of the gutter. But it's clear that she won't go away so easily, so I guess I have to make her leave. But how do you make a detective with a gun leave? I don't think I could fight her; she's too strong for me right now.

I wasn't even strong enough to make my own breakfast, that's what she's doing right now, with me lying on the couch. I feel like I'm dead. Too bad my heart is pumping rapidly, if it hadn't I might've believed my own illusions.

Sofia walks up to me with something in a glass that looks the way I'm feeling; snotty, a gross kind of yellow, and heaven forbid, it has some hard bits in it as well! No way I'm going to eat or drink that stuff!

'I'm not drinking that.'

I know it sounds childish as soon as the words leave my mouth, so for the decency of it I cross my arms in front of my chest and demonstratively close my mouth. God, I feel like I'm 10 years old again.

Sofia sighs. Puts the glass down. Jumps. Wait, jumps?? Holy fuck, she's sitting on my lap now! Without warning she lunges at me straddling me so I can't move an inch. Next thing I know she's got her hand over my nose.

'MPFFF'

I curse in every language I know, but since I've got my mouth closed I can't really breathe.

After a minute I give in and open my mouth wide to gasp for air...'Gluck' Wait, what did she do? That goo-ish stuff is now in my mouth and she's still holding her hands over my face! I swallow as much of the disgusting stuff as I can, trying to get some of my breath back. She's too fast for me, but luckily the combination of swallowed air and shit sends me into a coughing fit. I nearly choke to death, but at least I avoided another mouth-full of that hideous potion of hers.

Damn, how I hate her right now. So full of herself, sitting on my lap and grinning like some sort of mad woman. I grunt at her and simply stand up. She falls backwards and hits the floor with the most surprised expression I've ever seen. If it wasn't for me feeling so sick, I'd have laughed my ass of.

Now I just simply walk to my bedroom, close the door and bury under the covers. I know she has the key to my bedroom, but for now I'll settle for the least of quietness.

'Sara! Come here, I need you to drink some more!' she says, pounding on the door.

'Ah, to hell with that stuff, you're just poisoning me..' I dryly reply and just dig deeper. But her voice penetrates the sheets and blankets; 'That's just what you think, could you get your head out of your ass for a tiny little second?'

'Nope, screw it all, I'm not having that shit!'

In my frustration I scream in my pillow and angrily start to wave my arms and legs, thus creating a nice little war-zone of pillows, sheets and other bed-ish stuff.

I hear her call me several names, but after yelling 'I'm not listening' on top of my lungs, she finally shut up. Thank God!

As I lay buried inside my little cave I hear Sofia mutter and scold. I know I've pissed her off, but you can't really blame me, can you? I mean, I got sick, she helped me, but that was just from my hang-over. Not like I've got a virus or something. I have no intention of letting this get to me, and certainly not with the 'caring friend of the month' with me now.

So, do I hate Sofia? Yes, you might think I do. I probably can't stand her, sure I'd love to see her burn in hell right now, but I don't hate her. She's been a very good friend the past few months and I owe her big time. She let me know I could talk to her if I wanted to, not that I did, but she made the offer.

So, I don't hate her, yet. But if she keeps forcing that slimy substance down my throat, I might just start to really do so.

But I don't want to talk. I just want to be sad, miserable and alone. I don't care about other people right now. All I need is just a bit of relaxing and forgetting and in a day or two I'll be able to face Catherine again without bursting out in tears.

But nooo, the door is opening, and miss 'Know-it-all-and-can't-cook' comes in.

I take a peek from under my covers. She's standing there looking actually quite lost. And this time she's not going to preach or beg me to talk to her. Instead she quietly walks in and lays down on the bed next to me.

Me under the covers, she on top.

She has blonde hair, mine is brown.

Me a CSI, she a detective.

I'm confused, she's confused.

I slowly find my way out of the mess that's blankets, sheets and my head. She's trying not to cry, but a tear has escaped. I push everything off of me and take one sheet with me to pull over us both when I spoon her. A cold hand reaches out to take mine and she turns a bit so our cheeks touch. I sigh, feeling the weight of years resting on my shoulders. I don't hate her, and she doesn't hate me either.

I think that together we'll be fine.

**A/N: How did I do? My very first attempt to humor in a angsty chapter. I'll try to make the next one more angst. **


	4. She talks

**A/N: Update! Yes, I am still alive, and surprisingly, this story is alive too! I know, only 15 reviews for the past 3 chapters, but hey, it could've been worse! This was written months after the last chapter, and I'm not sure if this is going where I had intended it to go when I wrote the last chappie, but hey, we'll just wait and see! Warning: SLAAAAASH!**

**Disclaimer: I own them. Sara, Sofia and all the other characters are mine...Duh, go figure! She got engaged to Bugman, like I'd ever do that! ;)**

**Shout out to Ponys, for kindly reviewing almost every story I wrote, in just two days! Thanks! And also a hug for Danielle! (you know who you are!) :hugs: **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx **

'I'm sorry, Sofia.'

I whisper against her cheek. She's still asleep. I sigh. I think I screwed up pretty big. I mean, I did kinda yell at her, and locked myself in my room. Actually, I haven't been nice to her ever since she helped me back into the house. I think I even might've used the term 'hate'. Not fair, huh? I guess an apology is in order. I look at her, and give her a kiss on the cheek before heading down. I need some music to calm me down right now. I hurry from the stairway to the couch, cursing myself for getting that hardwood floor. Warming my feet up by tucking them under me, I nestle myself on the couch. Inwardly I grin as I start my DVD and put my headphones on. Most people picture me as an Ella Fitzgerald person, or Nina Simone, but I think Sofia's the only one who knows that I hate jazz. As in, big , big biiiiiig hate for it. I mean, they sing good, but it's not solid enough for me. There was Greg who thought I was a poppy person, I smacked him for that. Grissom thought I liked classical music, I didn't smack him, he's my boss… But Sofia was the one who figured out what it was.

I'd quoted some line from a song I love, and Catherine asked me which song it'd be this time. I didn't tell her, and we got into a fight, no surprise there. But I'm getting of track here. The point is, as I turn the volume up some more, that I love rock and metal. Yes, Sara Sidle loves metal. Heavy Metal, Power Metal, any kind of rock and Metal. Makes it easy to guess what kind of DVD there's in my DVD player. It's usually Alice Cooper or Within Temptation, but a few days back I popped Sonata Arctica in, with 'For the sake of Revenge' and it hasn't left since. It's a new favourite of mine. A friend told me about it and I just got my own to see what it was like. So it joined my 'most watched' pile of DVD's next to the TV.

And that's what I'm listening to as I catch a movement in the corner of my eye. I turn my head and see Sofia standing in the middle of my living room, her lips are moving but I can't hear her over the guitar solo and the drums. I wave for her to hold on and quickly put the DVD on pause and drop the headphones.

'Hey you', she says, 'I heard your apology.' Just a simple statement, but it implies so much more than just that.

'Oh, yeah, you kinda deserved that, I mean, I did treat you uh, well, like crap.'

Shit.. I'm rambling..

Sofia smiles. It's a tired smile, but a smile is a smile. She flops down on the couch next to me. I offer her another pair of headphones, but she declines. She opens her mouth to say something, but stops. I wait. If she wants to talk, she'll talk.

Slowly she starts speaking, trying to stay calm, but with every word she talks faster, words falling out of her mouth. 'I want, no, I need you to get over this, Sara. And not because I don't want to help you anymore, but because I need you to live. Sara, I won't be around every single time this happens. I need you to get up and like me for who I am, and not as someone who can clean up after you. I know you love Catherine, and I know the last thing on your mind is someone else's feelings towards you, but honestly, you've been a bitch for the past months. And this time not just to Catherine, but to everyone. To me, to Nicky, to Greg, to everyone you work with. And it's not helping you. You keep pushing us away! We can't always hang around to come every time you get yourself in trouble once again!'

She's standing in front of me right now, and all I can see is her. Her hurt, her pain, her want to help me, her hate for wanting to help me, and emotions I can't and won't look into now. She's talking again, and I zone in on her: 'It's not just now, that you've treated me badly, and if this happens again, I know you'll do it again. Bitch to everyone who reaches out. Even if I make a peace offer and we make up right now, that doesn't mean it won't happen again. Because it will. I know this will happen again, it's only a matter of when, where and how. Maybe you'll be able to get past it for a few years, but I know that one day you'll just break down again. And act like a devil to anyone who attempts to help you. And God knows they'll run. But you know what, Sara? I don't wanna run. I don't want to be the person who helped you up, and just ignored you on this very floor the second time. You're not a bad person, but nobody will be ready to help you like this. Scars don't matter, tears don't matter. But you could've at least been grateful for what someone does for you. I do accept your apology, but we really gotta do something about this.'

There's a begging like tone in her voice, and looking into her eyes that's exactly what I see. For some reason she desperately needs me to be all right. To be happy again, and to smile. Her words are harsh and they sting, but she knows it's the truth. Hell, I know it's the truth. Everything she said about me hit exactly the right spot. I look at her again, and for some reason I pull her into a hug. I think this is one of those moments where you do the right thing without thinking. She relaxes into me and breaks out into sobs. I pull her back onto the couch and for now, I just hold her in my arms.


	5. We buy orange paint

**A/N: Yeah, it took me ages to update. I promised Ponyz I'd update as soon as possible, too bad it's the wrong story, eh Pony? ;) As I said, it took me a very, very long time, and I'm sorry. I'll be better next time. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own them. Seriously, Jorja Fox, Marg Helgenberger and Louise Lombard are all mine. And aliens took over the world. (For those who don't get jokes; that was one. I do not own them).**

**DEDICATED TO: Ponyz, because you still don't ignore me, even though 'your' story has been a bit, well, not updated. (I WILL update that, promise!) **

**SOFIA'S POV**

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

From the moment I wake up, I have a feeling that something was up, starting with her little apology she'd whispered to me. And I am right, as I go down to check where Sara was, I see little signs that indicates things are wrong. Pictures on the wall are barely there, only a few of Lindsey and Grissom and only one of Catherine. But not a single one is a team photo, and even less hold Sara in their frame. In the hallway there isn't much to see, just a mirror and a closet where she keeps her leather jacket and stuff like that. But I know inside that closet lays much more, that there is a shoe box that contains things she's taken with her from Frisco. We'd get to that later. I am determined to get Sara to make her house a home, a home that is 'bad-Catherine-material' free. 

I enter the living room and see Sara curled up on the couch, watching some rock DVD. I am one of the few who knew she likes rock, instead of the jazz everyone assumes she'd like.

She's wearing headphones, and totally absorbed in the music, just like she can be with a case, totally focussed and oblivious to her surroundings. I call out to her, and though she hasn't heard me, she looks up and signals for me to wait. 

'Hey you', I say, 'I heard your apology' 

Wow, that really came out like a big thing, and appearantly Sara thinks the same, because she kinda starts rambling that she treated me like crap. Like I didn't know that… I smile at her, but inside I am tired. Of all of this, of seeing evidence of her obsession with Catherine practically everywhere. I fall down on the couch next to her, and she offers me a set of headphones. I decline; I don't want heavy guitar solos ruining my ear drums right now. I start to say something, but nothing comes out. I try again, and before I know words are falling out of my mouth. Of how I need her to get over this, of how she's been acting to all of us. In the process I got up and now I'm standing in front of her, and I'm about to break down and cry. Can't she see it? I have a begging tone in my voice as I continue, but honestly, I don't care. 

'…And God knows they'll run. But you know what, Sara? I don't wanna run. I don't want to be the person who helped you up, and just ignored you on this very floor the second time. You're not a bad person, but nobody will be ready to help you like this. Scars don't matter, tears don't matter. But you could've at least been grateful for what someone does for you. I do accept your apology, but we really gotta do something about this.' I finish my speech. Sara just looks at me, looks me straight in the eye and then pulls me in a hug. I sob and she holds me in her arms. I relax, knowing that we're at least getting **somewhere** in this. Though I'm currently a bit lost as to where we are on our map of life. Slowly I feel myself coming back again. We spend the rest of the day relaxing, our friendship a little better after this. We're still a bit awkward around each other, and we'll definitely have to talk. But that can wait. In the evening she makes us diner and we eat in silence. I almost get up to get a wine, but remembering what happened, I choose for Ice Tea instead. Sara looks rather grateful for that. 

The next day I talk her into going to a DIY store, get some supplies and do some decorating, to make her house a home. I can tell Sara doesn't like it, maybe isn't even ready for it, but she'll just have to. She's the only one not ready. I know I'm putting pressure on her, but that's her problem. If she doesn't want me to help her, she just has to tell me, because I'm not leaving until she says so. 

The entire way to the store she's sitting next to me grumbling 'how she doesn't need a home, because she's barely there anyway.' 

She's so damn lucky I don't buy that crap. You just sleep much better in a place you feel comfortable. I've prepared Sara for this; tank top and jeans, topped off with boots and sunglasses. I'm dressed in a similar way, and I forced Sara in bringing both her creditcards. She's gonna need them both. And I know she doesn't spend money on something else, so the money isn't really an issue. 

When we enter the cool and big building I first force her into getting a cart. We'll make our way from small things to big things; otherwise we'll be walking around for the next hours with stones or logs while we're looking for a teeny tiny paintbrush or something. We stroll around for about fifteen minutes, in which I question Sara about her likes and dislikes. 

'What's your favourite colour, Sar?' 'Dunno, I guess something red or orange.'

'Hmm, how long have you had this couch?' 'You're not touching that sofa, Curtis.' 'Sara, what if we got some fake plants for on your bookshelves?' 'They're BOOKshelves, Sofia, that means for books. NOT for freaky fake plastic plants.' 

You know; the usual. 

After those long, very long, fifteen minutes I know enough to start shopping. I suggest we go find ourselves some paint first, but it seems like Sara has some other ideas. I turn around the corner, and when I look behind me, she's gone. 

The next 15 minutes are spent searching for Sara. I find her near the power tools. She's so butch, I bet she could handle those sledge hammers and drills in her sleep. I drag her away, rather forcefully I must say, and after about forty minutes we can finally go find that paint we came for. 

Which causes another problem; Sara meant 'orange' as in 'anything between red and yellow'. Not as in 'oh, I want the Sunset Orange, and not the Orange Orange or the Slightly Red Orange'. Damn, neither of us knew there were so many shades of orange. We end up picking up three different shades to paint different parts of her house; a warm dark orange, a lighter one and more ochre coloured shade. Next, we browse around some lamps and desks, but Sara decides she's already got a good desk. I've got to say she's right on that. Her desk at home may be tucked away in a spare bedroom, but it's a very big desk. It's got a corner in it, and it's in a beautiful dark honey toned wood. 

Next, I force her to a furniture shop. She's got some decent pieces, but not nearly enough. Her house is big enough for two couches, but she's only got one because her TV/Wii/Xbox/ Playstation area takes up a whole lot of room. So we're gonna get something for that too. 

When we get there Sara looks very lost. I'd bet my pay check on the fact that Sara hasn't been in one of these stores before. Luckily I have, I spent a lot of time here when I was younger, and I know my way around. We look around, I suggest some things, but nothing seems to be of Sara's liking. Until we find two matching, dark-brown leather couches. Sara's eyes start to shine as she gently touches the leather. That's typically Sara. She looks over at me, I smile and gesture that she should sit, try them. She moves back to me, and takes my hand to sit down with me. We sit down, and they are as comfortable as they look. Sara turns a bit, and lays down carefully with her head in my lap. She smiles. 

'Well, if we fit this good on this couch, I think I should take it, don't you think?' and for the first time in weeks, I see her smile properly when I grin and nod. Yup, these are definitely great couches. After filling out a delivery form, make our way around the store, looking for a clerk to help us, and for anything else that catches our eyes. I do manage to find her something to store her electrical equipment. It's some sort of dresser, quite low, with doors instead of drawers. She can cut out a hole in the back for the wires, and set her TV on it. She asks me why she needs it, and when I answer that it looks better, she grins and shakes her head. Somehow we find a clerk, and he confirms all the stuff we, I mean Sara, bought. 

I'm exhausted when we get home, but also very content. Sara has bought some great stuff, and she even suggested that we'd go to an art fair tomorrow, so she could get some paintings. I do have a feeling we won't be using the paint we bought, but the other things seem great. And well, we can always return that paint. I'm not much of an orange person either, and somehow I have a feeling Sara doesn't like it. I could just ask her. 

'Sara, what do you really think of the paint we bought?'

'Honestly, I hate it, Sofia. Even I can tell it won't go with my other stuff. We'll return it tomorrow, or give it to Lindsey, maybe she's up to changing her room.'

'You know, that might be a great idea. We'll go buy some other paint tomorrow, maybe we could get some cream coloured or something. Or we'll just use the orange in your bedroom.'

'Sure, great idea. Why not. Let's make my whole bedroom look like a circus tent. Why not?'

She smiles, joking about her bedroom. I laugh openly at her. But I won't tell her I did think about buying a clown painting for in her bedroom. Guess she wouldn't go for that anyway. 


End file.
